Comfortably Numb: A Tale of Spirit World
by Keane
Summary: I have become...comfortably numb.
1. Prologue: Meant to Live

Twirling a dagger in my hands, I survey the scarred earth beneath my feet. I kneel slowly, touching the dirt and recoiling. It is hot to the touch. Eyes take in the scorched trees, black against the stark gray sky. I inhale deeply, and smile.

In two years, I have kept to myself as such. This ancient battle ground belonged to my family before they were brutally murdered. The problem with the police's theory about how they died was that the holes left in their bodies could only have been caused by concentrated lazers. Why my family was a target…they couldn't even make up an answer for that one.

So I investigated. I collected samples before the morgue workers arrived. A good thing that I'd payed attention in Chemisty, because I could expand upon my basic knowledge with detective guides published for the mildly interested—the kind that find their ways to the back of bookshelves after the first day. But I kept mine by my bed at night in my empty house, leaving it within arm's reach for when I couldn't stand to ponder why I, too, was not lying six feet under a temporary daisy garden.

This field…left to me in the hasty last will and testament of my great-uncle. He left it to my parents, and those who would succeed them. Currently, I am the only one. I had a brother, but he was taken with my mother and father. Taken from me.

Everything is taken from me. My boyfriend of nine months…whom I caught in an alleyway on my way to surprise him on Valentine's day in the arms of another girl. My interests…including my favorite sport of football, that I gave up for the investigation of the murders. My talents…or most of them anyway. Always second best; very good, but not quite good enough to claw up to the top pedestal. My home wasn't even left to me, as it was blown apart along with my family's internal organs. I've lived in a crooked apartment on student welfare since then.

Obviously, my family is something I've obsessed about. No crap there. The point is that I figured out what left craters in their torsos. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Demons.

Yes, demons. Though not the picture you've got in your head. Oh no. Rather than little red guys with horns, or fallen angels, they're a species, I guess you could say. Anyway, these demons, they live in a realm called Spirit World. Original, eh? An alternate world, if you will. You can reach it through portals created by special items or commanded by the ruler of Spirit World, Koenma.

How did I find all this out through a few day-old tissue samples that pained me beyond reason to take? Actually, I didn't learn the name of the ruler of Spirit World through a sample. That would be some serious science, I suppose. It was actually the slip of my classmate Yusuke Urameshi that alerted me to the existence of an parallel world. And the fact that he has been there. Of course, so have I. Didn't expect me to listen and not tail him? You have so much to learn.

I've hardened since the incident. Student welfare doesn't cover squat, but I keep under that umbrella so I don't have to live with anyone else. I don't make friends. I steal. Not from anyone I know…but from Spirit World. Yes, that infernal place again.

After not being able to protect my family, I made a resolution to never be caught defenseless again. I began to train in advanced martial arts at a local dojo. You might say it's impossible to go from a fit football player to a stealth expert in two years. Well, you obviously haven't given up the rest of your life and dedicated it to one thing: revenge. It's what fuels me. My emotions are a steel ball in the back of my mind, that I do not allow myself to access. And so when I thieve, I don't give back.

I stand back up and scrape my boot carefully over the name I've been scrawling in the dead soil, and shove my hands into the pockets of my baggy trousers gathered at the ankle. So I've left a few questions unanswered, but you know some things about me. Take my word for it that you're the only person who does.


	2. This is Your Life

"Moriko, why don't you enlighten us?" Ms. Amala is possibly my least favorite person in this cursed school.

I shrug in her direction and continue to review the graph paper beneath my desk.

Ms. Amala is obviously not pleased. "That is it! Detention again! If you don't shape up I'll—"

"You'll what?" I retort, voice ice. "Call my parents?"

She's taken aback. It's written all over her face that she is considering her words now. "No. If you don't shape up, I'll be sending you off to the juvenile center."

I resist the urge to rise and laugh pointedly in her mouse-like face. Instead, I do nothing and just give her a steady look, accompanied by a small grunt. She could try. She wouldn't succeed of course.

While my flustered teacher regathers herself, the shrill bell in the hall sounds, and the vibrations ringing in my ears are joined by the scraping of chairs. I rise slowly, having nowhere to go except to the dead field behind the ruins of my family's former home to practice what was practiced there hundreds of years before my birth.

Outside, I lean against the bus stop sign with my arms crossed, pitch-colored baseball cap pulled low over my eyes, which are lined heavily so I look like a raccoon. I know girls whisper about me, boys alike, but the point is that no-one will desire to get close. I marr all signs of beauty that I can: I never do anything to my hair except pull it through the hole in the back of my cap or tie it with a strip of cloth when I train, I put on obscene amounts of eyeliner and mascara that I wash off immediately when I get back to my apartment, I am silent except to grunt and mutter swear words around others, though I do enjoy tormenting Ms. Amala every now and then, and I wear baggy clothing to disguise my willowy figure. Oh, I also make sure to chew gum with my mouth open.

But the persona I put on is not me. I'm me when I train, but no other time. In fact, I would become this mask, I wear it so much, were I not so determined to not let that happen.

The bus arrives with a harsh whooshing sound as the brakes activate, but I don't move from my position until everyone else has gotten on. My seat at the front will be left open anyway. No-one sits next to me. I almost smile, but picture myself doing the action in my head instead. I don't show emotion. I finally lift my weight from the post, rolling my eyes as the driver honks. In my mind, I'm grinning like a fool. On my face, is plastered my permanent expression of distaste.

Wait. I look again over all of the seats, and realize that it is true. Some guy is sitting in my seat. Cocking my hat, I can hear the whole bus inhale collectively. I tap the offender on the shoulder and smack my gum in between my words. "Are you new?" I ask.

He turns to me. "No."

I roll my eyes again. "Urameshi. Get up. You know better."

Urameshi stands as the bus begins moving. The driver ignores him, as I knew he would. For that matter, everyone else on the bus has gone back to their business. But not in the ordinary—

I'm abruptly knocked back, and instinctively take on a ready position to fight, arms up and tense yet ready to spring; legs bent so I can lunge forward. I do not touch where I was hit; it would show weakness.

"We don't desire to take you by force," says a voice. One of Urameshi's friends, with long red hair, stands from his seat, where he, too, was not facing me. No-one on the bus is now. They appear to have stopped paying attention to anything; their eyes are glazed over like jelly donuts.

Speaking of jelly donuts, the prince of annoying antics suddenly pipes up, holding one. He says something I don't quite catch. For the third time I roll my eyes. This is a waste of time. If Kazuma Kuwabara is working with Yusuke Urameshi, then I'm obviously having a bizarre nightmare.

"Take me where?" I sneer, though inside, I know.

"Hurry up, Detective. I can only hold them for so long all at once," drawls someone else near the back of the bus. I begin to wonder how large Urameshi's little group is.

Urameshi turns angrily. "Would you hold on, Hiei! You're so impa—" He's thrown backwards as my own punch connects with his jaw. Next, I leap up and spin slightly, kicking him in the back so he falls over the seat.

"I am impatient to take my leave," I retort. Urameshi stumbles to his feet, eyes blazing. "Do you wish to fight me?" I ask casually, adjusting my backpack on my shoulders. My legs are still flexed, and I can feel the cold steel of a dagger up my sweatshirt sleeve. My fingers linger near its sheath as I pretend to tighten the straps.

"No!" says the red-topped one. I can't think straight; I'm too focused on a battle brewing. I actually have quite the desire to take down someone right now, so perhaps I won't object. "We don't want trouble," he pleads.

Urameshi has other ideas. "Oh yes we do." His temper will be his downfall. I can already see it in his movements, in the swing he takes at my head. I duck easily and use a bus seat for support to give him an upwards kick. As he grimaces, I spin fluidly and leap to the last bus step, forcing the door open with all of my weight. Red-Head is assisting Urameshi, but the source of the earlier annoyed tone seems to be ready to take after me. Scarlet eyes flash as the rest of the eyes on the bus come back from their dreamy states.

"Help the Detective," he mutters to his companions, his eyes still on me. I jerk away from his gaze and give one last shove to the doors, tumbling outwards with them, but I catch myself and roll into a somersault. I break into a run, smirking. My speed has increased with muscle gain…and I've gained quite a lot since I began to push my body.

I shoot forwards, actually outrunning the bus. Then I begin to wonder, because I had no idea that I could go this fast. I shake myself out of it, stealing a glance behind me to see if I've been followed. It appears that I haven't.

Five minutes later, I'm panting in front of my building, hands on my knees and sweat dripping from my forehead. Another thing that's unexpected. My endurance is something I take pride in. I guess my speed took it out of me. I hate guessing.

I fumble in the deep right pocket of my cargos, brushing aside loose change with my fingers until one brushes a rough surface. Plucking it from the jingling mass, I hold it tightly in my palm as I push the heavy front door open with my foot. As I climb the stairs, a feeling similar to worry begins to accumulate in my stomache. By the time I exit the stairwell and scuff my boots on the threadbare carpet of the hallway, I've begun running through the scene.

Biting my lip, I gently insert the key I've been clutching into the lock of my door, which I close upon entering, then securing the deadbolt. But I know that won't keep them out; not if they really want me.

I throw off my clothes and step into a perpetually cold shower that hisses in a way it shouldn't and leaks. I'm too absorbed in my thoughts to care today. Usually I'll grab the wrench under the rusted pipes of the faucet and temporarily tighten the knut securing the showerhead, but right now I'm just glad to have water running over me at all. Sure, it'd be nicer if this dump had hot water, but I take what I can get.

I stick my face into the stream, rubbing vigorously with my thumbs at the masses of black that surround my eyes. When my eyelids feel raw, I turn around and stick my hair into the water, shivering. Satisfied, I yank the handle to "off" and stick my hand out, snatching the first piece of cloth I find. It happens to be my shirt. I stick it to my face and inhale deeply, collecting and sorting my thoughts.

Urameshi is a Spirit Detective. I already knew that, but it was reinforced by that comment the last one of his group made. Kuwabara is apparently not as averse to Urameshi as he seems to be, plus there seem to be two others in on it. The redhead is Shuuichi, and I'm certain of that now. The other…Urameshi called him Hiei. I could slap myself on the head, because as certain things start to come together, other things do too. Like the fact that this shirt doesn't smell…

I hold it at arm's length and realize it isn't my shirt. The navy one I wore to school is lying in the heap with the rest of my clothes. This one is black. Crud.

"Yeah, I bet Hiei'd like that back now." I jerk my eyes up and gasp. Almost as if my mind willed him here, Yusuke Urameshi is leaning on my doorframe and smirking down at me. The conscious female inside of my shell realizes that I'm stark naked in front of a boy—a schoolmate at that. My shell outside of my conscious female realizes that this is the perfect way for him to corner me: in my most vulnerable state. He's playing upon my modesty. Or trying to.

"Some people find it's better to knock," I tell him, stepping out from behind the shower curtain and flinging the shirt at him. He tries to make the catch while staring at me. Obviously he wasn't planning on this. I stride up to him. "I think you've got the wrong apartment."

There is uncertainty flickering behind his eyes. Maybe he does have the wrong one. He's never seen me without my raccoon eyes, cap, and boy cargos. While he's considering, I bend over slowly and take up my sweatshirt, keeping my eyes on him and then slipping it over my head. Being about seven sizes too big for me anyway, it hangs to my knees. I'm thankful, no matter what my shell says.

"Yusuke!" A voice seems to knock him out of his stupor, but I'm already ducking and swiping his legs out from under him. "Yusuke!" He hits the ground with a grunt. "Urameshi. Stop fooling around." He turns at the last statement and glares at someone in the one other room. Bad choice.

I snatch my pants, shove my legs haphazardly through the openings, and then breeze through the doorway past him. I steal a glance at the door to the hallway and curse; red-head is standing there, looking worried. He bites his lip as I skid to a stop barely two feet from the bathroom, where Urameshi is regaining his feet with a few choice words.

"Don't you ever stop fighting?" drawls that voice from the bus. I whip around, but see nothing. I know I've made a mistake, that I've been tricked…especially since I feel an excruciating blow to the back of my head before watching my chipped wallpaper swirl into black.


End file.
